Untitled
by ShinigamiPhoenix
Summary: Short fic. Shuichi thinks Yuki's broken a promise, but has he really?


Notes: Hiya! First fic for the Gravi fandom, and please bear in mind that I have only seen the first three eps of the show. Still, I think this is pretty good, and I hope you do to.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation nor its characters and I'm not pretending to. Please don't sue me, I have no money, and I am not giving you my cat.

Shuichi's cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dancing with happiness and joy. He gripped the microphone tightly in his fist, the cheers of the crowd filling his ears, his mind, his entire being.

This was what he lived for, what he craved, what he needed. It was like a drug, and he had no problems admitting his addiction. He glanced aside at Hiro, and found him smiling broadly, but otherwise gave no indication of his feelings. But Shuichi knew how he felt, knew that his friend was just as addicted to the rush of performing as he was.

His eyes roamed over the crowd again, this time looking for a particular face. But there were no cold amber eyes staring at him with such intensity. There was no tall, muscular body leaning casually against the wall as if nothing short of a hurricane could affect him. There was no quirky little half-smile that was reserved just for him.

Shuichi's heart plummeted, his smile fading and the happiness, the energy, draining from his eyes, leaving them sad and heartbroken. It wasn't as if he expected Yuki to come to every single concert, that would be stupid, but… Yuki had promised he would come. He'd been so busy with his writing and Shuichi had been feeling lonely, so he'd promised that he would attend this concert. He'd said that not even the hounds of hell could stop him. He'd promised, dammit!

Tears glistened in Shuichi's violet eyes, and he bit his lip to keep from sobbing. He was being weak and childish, a damned brat, but he couldn't help it. He just couldn't believe that Yuki had broken his promise. Sure, the writer was sometimes a bit brisk and curt with him, sure he sometimes pretended like he'd love to throw Shuichi out of a window, but he'd never, ever gone back on a promise before. If he'd broken this one, would he break others?

"Hey, Shuichi," Hiro hissed, frowning at him. "Smile, would you?"

Shuichi sniffed and forced his lips to form what could loosely be called a smile. He waved to the crowd and thanked them for their support, said he was glad they enjoyed the show, reminded them that their album was coming out next week, and walked casually off the stage.

Inside, he was hollow, empty, dead. It was like a state of shock, of disbelief, he just couldn't understand what Yuki had done. His mind refused to accept it, kept insisting that he had to have made a mistake, that maybe Yuki had just been held up, maybe the traffic was bad. But then a snarky little voice in the back of his head pointed out that the odds of Yuki being held up for over an hour and a half were slim to none. There had to be a reason, the voice said, and the reason is that he simply didn't want to come.

His heart shattered. Was their whole relationship a lie? Had Yuki merely been toying with him, playing with him for his own amusement? Had he privately been laughing at the silly little boy who'd fallen in love with him?

Shuichi bumped into something warm and solid and he cursed as he fell on his butt. Groaning, he rubbed his sore ass and looked up at what he'd crashed into. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes flew wide, and for just a second, his heart stopped beating.

Yuki looked as beautiful and cold as ever, his eyes promising the brutal truth to all questions. His gorgeous body was hidden by a pair of casual lack trousers and a soft grey sweater. He had one hand shoved in his pocket, and the other was holding a cigarette. He looked like some fallen god, a seducer sent to test the will of men and women alike.

Shuichi stared up at him, not daring to hope, yet desperate to believe. He knew he looked as bad as he felt, with two tears slowly rolling down his cheeks and his eyes filled with broken shards of pain. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat. What could he possibly say? There was so much, he didn't know where to start.

The corner of Yuki's lips curled upwards in that special half-smile that wasn't quite there, and he leaned down to pull Shuichi gently to his feet, careful not to burn him with the cigarette.

"You didn't think I'd break a promise, did you?" he asked quietly, brushing away the pink-haired boy's tears with his spare hand. His eyes thawed slightly, some of the cold bleeding away, to reveal a spark of warmth, of love, that he was always so careful to hide.

Shuichi's breath went out in a sob, and he felt his heart slowly piece itself together. The snarky voice in his head went off to sulk, making a little 'hmph' noise, and another voice got up and danced, waving around a pair of pom-poms.

"I couldn't see you," he muttered, trying desperately not to cry.

"I wanted a closer look than from the crowd, so Tohma let me watch from here." Yuki let the cigarette fall to the floor and crushed it under his heel, raising the hand to caress Shuichi's cheek. "You were magnificent, Shuichi, so energetic, so lively, so… beautiful. You damned brat."

Yuki leaned forward and gently brushed his lips against Shuichi's, closing his eyes and savouring the taste of Shuichi's lips, he always tasted like strawberry candy, a sweet, addictive taste that he craved more and more each day. Shuichi moaned and pressed close to him, shivering when Yuki's hands slipped underneath the long coat he was wearing to press against the skin of his back that was bared by the black midriff top.

They broke from the kiss reluctantly, gasping for air. All thoughts of broken promises and false relationships were driven from Shuichi's mind at the feel of Yuki's warm body pressed against his.

"Take me home," he whispered, half pleading, and Yuki nodded.

Shuichi smiled, absently blowing his pink bangs out of his eyes. It was a rush, he thought, similar being on stage, but different. This rush was warmer, softer, more intimate. This, he thought, was love.


End file.
